Walking Corpse
by narcissism epidemic
Summary: [Chapter Six Added] He was imprisoned and tortured for information. What if death was the preferred alternative, whether he knew it or not? What if the mind made a choice and the body followed?
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

* * *

"You see, Frank found out the hard way  
that the dark things lurking in the night  
don't haunt old houses or abandoned ships.  
They haunt minds."  
-David Wong, _John Dies at the End_

**CHAPTER ONE**

From the dawn of time, man has looked for a reason (any reason) to kill those around him. In this day and age, the killing has become mostly metaphorical: crushing their dreams, taking their money, stealing their spouse, throwing rocks through their window...anything that could possibly ruin someone's life. Ignoring the spirituality behind the idea, the seven deadly sins do speak highly about what motivates mankind. Envious of someone? Ruin their happiness. Angry with someone? Punch them square in the face.

It all boils down to, basically, taking what someone believes rightfully belongs to _them_. If you stand in their way, God help you.

* * *

Nosedive Flashblade, of the famous Mighty Ducks, was reading a comic book when the sounds of Drake One began to blare. "Thank the stars!" He leapt out of bed and jogged to the Drake One chamber. It had been an extremely dull - to put it lightly - past month. There had been zero activity from Dragaunus and the most excitement Nosedive had seen was an occasional team practice and a night out with Thrash and Mookie. He was becoming stir-crazy.

"Looks like there's some, uhh, activity in the, uhh, downtown district," Tanya said, as the team gathered in front of the screen. The pulsating dot showed the estimated location of the energy source: not far, Tanya explained, from the now-shut-down movie theatre off Oak Street.

"Sweet, maybe we can take in a movie afterwards," Nosedive added with a grin.

"Shut-down theatre, bro," Wildwing said.

"Always gotta ruin the humor, don't you, bro?" he said, shaking his head.

"Maybe if the humor was a little _better," _Wildwing quipped, giving his younger brother a shove.

The six ducks loaded into the Migrator, off in a blaze toward Oak Street and what they assumed would be a clumsily-laid trap by Siege and Chameleon. After all, who would attempt to break into a long-deceased movie theatre? There were certainly no alternative fuels being stashed there. Wildwing could have laughed at the pathetic attempts to lure he and his team out. Nonetheless, he was certain to keep his team members on guard. While the trap was likely obvious, that did not make it any less deadly.

"Okay, team," Wildwing said, as the Migrator came to a stop outside the Mill Theatre (Now showing: "The Notebook" and "Van Helsing", in a desperate attempt to age itself). The posters themselves were in tatters, just discernible enough for Nosedive to read aloud and grimace.

"Well, I have no interest in an after-butt-kicking movie, I don't know about you guys. This is just awful." He shook his head in disapproval at the movie selections. "You'd think they'd have more choices."

"I enjoyed 'Van Helsing'," Grim said, giving Nosedive another chance to sigh and shake his head.

"Okay, Dive, enough," Wildwing said, cutting off the banter. "We need to figure out what Dragaunus is planning. Obviously, it's a trap. There's no real reason they'd be at an abandoned movie theatre. We need to be careful. No darting ahead..." Here he threw an accusing glance at Nosedive. "...and no 'being a hero'." His gaze at Nosedive grew even more stern. "Understood?"

As the other members murmured their agreement, Nosedive added, "Yeah, since that was clearly just for me, I totally get it, Wing."

"Well, you are known to blast into a fight, not thinking," Wildwing said. "I just want to make sure everyone, my baby brother included, is being cautious here, all right?"

Nosedive rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yeah, bro, all right. Cautious: word of the day. Got it. Can we go inside now? Those reptilian scumbags are obviously up to _something_, trap or not."

"Right. Let's go."

The six ducks entered the building, puck blasters and puck launchers at the ready. Hushed footsteps tapped along the tiled floor of the Mill Theatre. Aside from the dust, the cobwebs, and the overall "creepy" atmosphere, Nosedive noted, the theatre looked pretty good, especially for a place that had been shut down for over seven years. Even the popcorn poppers were still there. Nosedive fought the urge to ask his brother if they could - as a heroes' payment, of course - nab one for the Pond. _How good would movie-style popcorn be, though?_ he asked himself.

They maneuvered past the tattered rope, that had previously been the formation for the queue into the theatre, and toward the back of the building. Since there were only two films showing at a time, the odds for choosing which room the Saurians were dwelling was relatively simple.

"There," Mallory whispered, pointing at Cinema Two, where a dim light shown below the crack of the double-doors. Wildwing nodded and gestured his hand toward the room. The group crept toward the doors, weapons at the ready. Wildwing opened the door carefully, and led his team into the room.

The screen was lit. The words "Please turn off or mute your cell phone prior to the start of a performance" appeared on the screen, a courtesy warning to the non-existent patrons.

Wildwing frowned and glanced up toward the projection booth above the seats. Unmistakable shadows moved too-and-fro behind the projector. "Up in the-" Wildwing began, but was cut off by a _hissing_ noise.

Smoke began to fill the cinema. Thick, gray smoke, blinding the sight of each member of the team, save for one. Wildwing began to scan the area with the Mask, searching for the silhouettes of any of the Saurian crew. "Be alert!" he shouted to his coughing companions.

"Hello duckies!"

All heads snapped toward the voice. A tail swung, and an "oof!" resounded throughout the room.

"Duke! Are you all right?" Mallory shouted at her struck companion, pointing her voice in the direction the shout had resounded.

Duke stood, hand upon the sore spot of his abdomen. "I'm good, babe. Siege is nearby, that's for sure."

"And I was trying to be careful." Siege's eyes shown in the dissipating smoke, tail flicking back and forth. "Told you they'd come."

"Yes, I thought it'd be a bit too obvious," Wraith replied, his form now becoming visible alongside Siege. "Even for ducks, they are not without brains." He smiled, tightening his grip on his staff. "As I'm sure you are aware, this is a trap."

"Yeah? And?" Mallory's finger itched upon the trigger of her Puck Blaster.

"And? Why, we lured you here in order to obtain information," Wraith replied. "Well, it is the beginning of the process, should we say. But, you will understand soon enough." His voice dropped to a murmur as the smoke began to fill the room again. The ducks began to cough; the smoke was far thicker than it had been, and there was a definite reek of sulfur.

"What...are you slimeballs looking...for?" Wildwing asked in between coughs. As he had assumed, there was no reply, but it gave him an opportunity to scan the room once again, looking for any trace of the Saurians. The unmistakable gleam from Siege's eye came into view, and he raised his gautlet and fired. The wall exploded in reply, hitting nothing but concrete and drywall. "Damn."

In response, the room became alive with the blasts of hunter drones. The ducks scattered, protecting themselves behind the theatre's chairs. The two Saurians disappeared in the midst of the chaos. Pucks and grenades exploded; enemies were destroyed. Smoke lingered in the air. Hunter drones replied in kind, blasting at the seats, causing the Mighty Ducks to spread throughout the theatre.

"Looks like we've been led into a warzone!" Wildwing shouted over the blasts.

"Yeah, but their army is nothin' but weak drones and scared Saurians!" Duke shouted back, slicing a drone with his saber. "But..." A drone shot at him; Duke quickly dodged the blast. He brought his saber down swiftly, cutting the drone in half from head to foot. Sparks flew. "I don't get it."

Wildwing, too distracted with the destruction of his own fleet of drones, did not reply, but he knew what Duke meant. While, yes, there were a lot of enemies against them, and, yes, it was borderline challenging, what was the point? Why would Dragaunus set this whole thing in motion just to tire the ducks out a bit? The drones had never exactly been a challenge, and there was clearly nothing of value in this run-down building. What was the point? Information, Wraith had said, but where was the information from an ambush?

_Clang_.

The last remaining drone fell to the floor. For a moment, the room was filled with a deafening silence. The blinding smog that had filled the room was beginning to disappear, much to the ducks' relief. As it cleared, the Saurians were gone, and the cinema revealed nothing but the shattered remains of the robots that they had destroyed.

"I don't get it," Duke said again, as the smoke finally thinned.

"Me either. I-" Wildwing began, but he clamped his beak shut. "Where's Dive?"

The other four ducks glanced around the room at the question, and the silence that followed was even more deafening. "Y-You don't think..." Tanya began, too panicked to even finish the question.

The ducks scoured the building, looking for any trace of their missing comrade. "Wildwing," a soft voice said, carefully. "I-I think...this is Nosedive's." Tanya held up the fallen communicator: Nosedive's communicator.

Wildwing stalled, swallowing the lump that had somehow formed in his throat, and raised his hand to take the communicator that Tanya held before him. _Information_, he thought. _But...he's a kid. What kind of information could they need...from him?_

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

Author's Note: Thanks so much, The Mighty Duck and Ioha, for reviewing. It has been so long since I've written and your reviews were so encouraging. I really appreciate it!

* * *

"HERE IS A SMALL FACT:  
You are going to die...  
Does this worry you?"  
-Markus Zusak, _The Book Thief_

**CHAPTER TWO**

The first sensation was the sound of a high-pitched squeal. Not from another living thing – sounded more like furniture being moved. Metallic furniture against metal flooring, that was. The sound set his teeth on edge, eyes squeezing even tighter shut. He groaned in relief when the sound disappeared.

The next sensation was that he was floating. Though, floating was not quite the word for it. His shoulders burned in their sockets and his wrists were screaming, but he was definitely floating. His feet sought a surface to rest upon, but there was nothing but air below them. _Be nice if I could open my eyes. It'd make finding the floor a whole lot easier_.

Finally, the last sensation that swept over him was a combination of extreme drowsiness and a splitting headache. What the hell had happened? Had he gotten into Duke's liquor cabinet again? He couldn't imagine he would be stupid enough to do that again, after the three-hour lecture from Wildwing and the most heavy-handed "drinking is bad!" speech he had ever heard, including PSAs.

Shoulder pain and floating notwithstanding, it did feel similar to a hangover, as little experience he had with the things. His eyelids felt like they weighed eighty pounds apiece, and even when he did manage to crack them open, the world looked like it had been placed under a blur filter. A very bright filter.

"Ugh, Wing, turn the lights down, could you?" he grumbled, wincing at the light as his eyes struggled to open completely.

There was a faint giggle to his right, behind him. "—thinks he's talking to his brother. What a goon." The voice, so familiar, but the pounding in his skull refused to let him place it.

"Wha—?"

His eyes were beginning to adjust to his surroundings. Yes, this was familiar as well, and not in a pleasant way. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. The Raptor. His head lolled back and he peered up above him. His wrists were bound with black rope, stretching up to the ceiling. "Yeah, uhh, you wanna lower me a notch? I think my shoulder's about to pop out," he said, feeling the words slur out of his mouth. So, no drinking. He must've been hit with a tranquilizer during the battle at the movie theatre. Wonderful.

A snort, this time, from his left. "Yeah, gotta make sure our prisoner is comfortable, right?" His mind placed the voice: Siege.

"It'd be a nice gesture." His voice was beginning to sound coherent. Not normal, not yet, but at least it was understandable.

"Chameleon, Siege! Stop talking with our hostage. We'll have plenty of time for that later." Dragaunus. "We must wait for him to wake up, first. No sense starting the…activities when he's still half-unconscious."

"Activities? Like arts 'n' crafts?" His head fell forward. The drowsiness was creeping back up on him. "Seriously, though, down just a touch, could you?"

"I'm afraid not, duck," Dragaunus replied. "If your shoulder was to dislocate itself, think of it as a gift. Something to focus on later. You'll appreciate it, then, I'm sure." Laughter filled the air, and Nosedive swallowed. His brain formed a quip, a clever response, but his body filled with fear, and the words did not come. Sleep engulfed him again.

"Give him two minutes of rest. Then wake him."

* * *

"Check again!" Wildwing snapped, pacing yet another path in front of Drake One's screen. Tanya bit her lip, but nodded. With a _click-clack_, she scanned the city, looking for a source – any source – of energy that would give even a hint of a clue as to where Dragaunus was hiding. She knew it was a fruitless endeavor but she had to keep her leader calm. Well, as calm as he could be, given the situation.

The scan finished and bleeped its results. "Umm, I'm...I'm sorry, Wildwing. There's just...just nothing for Drake One to find. No energy, nothing. It'd probably be faster to check every building in the city in person."

"Don't think I won't."

"My friend, you must calm down. Your anger will cloud your ability to find our young friend," Grim said, placing a hand on Wildwing's shoulder.

Wildwing's eyes narrowed, and he shook the comforting hand away. "Wrong! Wrong, Grim. Anger will _help_ me find Dive, _and_ it'll help me when we find Dragaunus…help me from showing that scum any sympathy."

The four other ducks frowned. "Wildwing," Mallory began, "Nosedive's been taken before, and you never freaked out like this."

"Yeah, because he was taken because he happened to be in the way. This time…this time the entire plan was to take him. Wraith said they needed information. Now, I don't know what information Dive could possibly have that they'd want, but…there's no way this is good. They nab him and then disappear? No energy surges, nothing? I…I don't get it. And there's nothing I can do."

He turned and walked toward the door. "Call me on the communicator if you find anything. I'm going out to patrol the city." Before any of his teammates could voice their objections, the door slid closed behind him.

Wildwing, mounting the duckcycle and snapping the kickstand, took off out of the Pond and into the streets of Anaheim. He snuck a glance at his communicator: 4:39 AM. Nosedive had been missing for around nine hours. He knew it was ridiculous, scouring the city. If Tanya could not pick up on any sign of the Saurians, Wildwing knew there was nothing that could be done at this point. But damn if he was going to sit in the Pond, waiting patiently until Dragaunus decided to give his brother back.

A dreaded two-letter word began to snake into his mind, but he pushed it away. Nosedive would certainly be coming back. The kid had been through worse and come out scratch-free. It would happen the same this time. He would either escape or be saved; he would have a joke or two lined up, and life would go back to normal.

It was useless to worry.

Through gritted teeth and the cold air zipping by, Wildwing rolled to a stop outside Mill Theatre. It seemed the only likely place to find a clue. He and the team had looked over the entire building after Nosedive's initial disappearance, but, as Grin had said, his anger _had_ clouded him. He could not even remember what he looked at nine hours ago. He had been so enraged and so worried.

He opened the door to the theatre and stepped inside. Pitch black. Flipping on a flashlight, he began to peer around the room. It all looked the same, though the darkness could be fooling him. He entered the cinema from the previous night. Since the Saurians were no longer setting their trap, the screen was blank. "Saurian magic," he murmured.

Stooping behind the seat where Nosedive's com had been found, Wildwing strained for evidence. Something, anything...

The fact that they had even thought to remove the communicator made Wildwing all the more nervous. The Saurians never thought their plans out so well. It had taken them less than ten minutes to fill the place with smoke, nab Nosedive, remove his communicator, and transport back to the Raptor. They had not even made a sound. There were no hints, shouts of surprise, laughter...nothing. Just the vanishing of smoke and a missing duck. Or, alternatively, there had been sounds and he just missed them. He feared that even more. _I'm usually so focused. Especially with him._

Fingers squeezed the back of the seat. "Dammit," he growled. "Nothing."

* * *

Nosedive jerked awake as a hand smacked into contact with his lower-right jaw. "Whoa!" His eyes flew open and he was met with a pair glowing yellow eyes. "Dragaunus," he said with a frown. "Thanks for the rude awakening." He was now, he noted, sitting, and his arms praised the heavens for that. "What is it you want? Information? Cause I'm not saying nothin'."

Dragaunus grinned. "Oh, to be so young and stupid again."

"What's that supposed to me—" Dragaunus cuffed him again, etching a thin gash into his cheek.

"I would ease on the back-talk, duck. I'm sure you'll find it unpleasant enough without your _mouth_ making it worse." Dragaunus turned from him, pacing the floor in front of the young duck. Nosedive let his head drop slightly, and he noticed that all of his armor had been removed. He was clad in nothing but ratty pants and a t-shirt. Boots, gloves, weapons...and of course, his communicator, all gone. He remembered when the com had been lost. Not long after the tranquilizer had hit his neck, he had felt a rough jerk on his arm, and Siege dropping the item on the ground was the last thing he remembered before everything went to haze.

"But to answer your previous question, there is nothing I particularly _want_ from you."

"What? Then why—" Another smack, much harder than the other two had been. His head whipped to the side, and he felt the warmth of blood coating his cheek.

"It was a brilliant realization, I do believe," Dragaunus replied though a smile. "Do you know the best way to destroy a group?"

Nosedive opened his mouth to reply, but, upon the throbbing sensation in his jaw, closed it and merely shook his head.

"You take out the leader. I have seen it many, many times, even with these humans. Their pathetic sports...as soon as the captain or star player is taken down...the rest fall. Without that pillar of strength and leadership, the team dissolves into chaos, and, eventually, into nothing. Nothing but loss."

Nosedive swallowed. Shame swept up into his gut; was he going to back down into fear so quickly? If he knew his brother and teammates — and he did — they were probably already on their way to saving him. "Well, as flattering as that is," he said, keeping his voice level, "you got the wrong duck. I'm not the leader, handsome and heroic as I may be. You'd think you'd know that after spending so long hunting after us. Simple mistake, I'll just be getting along now, if you don't mind."

A hand against his throat, grip tightening. "If you would," Dragaunus growled, "learn to keep silent, perhaps you would figure out what I mean on your own." The duck struggled for breath as the grip around his neck finally loosened. "You are better than the leader. You are his _brother_, his kin...his last surviving family member. Simply to kill the leader? I think you and the other ducks would rebound from that. But to lose his brother, why, I think that would _destroy_ him. And," he added, noting the look on Nosedive's face, "death is not the only way one can be lost.

"Siege," he said, turning and walking away from the duck, "please put our guest back as he previously was. His arms have had enough rest, I think."

Nosedive's arms exploded in pain as soon as his weight was put onto them. _Dammit! What am I supposed to do now? _He glanced down at himself, frowning hard at the red splotches that now stained his shirt. _Hope that'll come out. Heh_. He continued to joke to himself. Had to keep his spirits up. After all, when the team got here he did not want to be out of material. He moaned inwardly, attempting to release some of the ache. _Can't think about it_, he told himself. _That's what the dino-jerk wants. To...break me, or something. Can't let it happen. For Wing's sake, can't let it happen_.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

* * *

"Losing the possibility of something is  
the exact same thing as losing hope and  
without hope nothing can survive."  
-Mark Z. Danielewski, _House of Leaves_

**CHAPTER THREE**

He craved them. So many things he could barely begin to list them all. Nosedive had been moved into a cell days ago…or what his mind interpreted as "days." The lack of a window or clock made it near-impossible to tell. He guessed he had been in the Raptor for three days, although, to his body, it felt like it had been weeks, months. He felt like he had aged a decade in those days. _Physically, not mentally_, he reminded himself.

From the time he had been chucked into the cell – really, it was more of a metallic shipping crate in appearance…a cell had the luxury of barred doors and maybe a window – there was not a time when he was not in pain. As he had predicted, his left shoulder had dislocated itself while he had been hanging. In a way, it had been a blessing. It had earned the duck his very own room, where he was free to stand and walk within the luscious space provided for him. More so, he had the chance to attempt to relocate his shoulder.

It had been a stupid idea, and he had known it. He wasn't a medical brainiac like Tanya, but, honestly, what were the chances of being offered medical assistance from the guys keeping him hostage? Trick question: there are no chances.

So, Nosedive had pressed against the wall of his cell, attempting through blasts of pain to place the joint back into the socket. After three attempts, and two rounds of near fainting, he had felt the _pop_ and there had been some relief.

But now, the pain was throbbing and he was losing sensation in his fingers. "Call me crazy," he said, "but I will take that as a sign I screwed up."

He had not slept. Well, that was not quite true. Sleep came in spurts. Thirty minutes here, an hour there. The times could be off, but Nosedive prided his internal clock, and from how exhausted he felt, he would bet a pretty penny on those guesses.

The Saurians must have installed a camera somewhere to keep an ever-watching eye on him, because whenever he would fall asleep, pretty soon an ear shattering buzzer would sound, and, well, there was no sleeping with that.

He had heard that going too long without sleep would cause people to go crazy. REM sleep, that was. He was not quite sure what REM sleep was; Tanya had tried to explain it to him once but as soon as she had said "REM", a certain song had popped into his head and that was the end of that.

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine," he sung to himself, recalling the song by that human band, R.E.M. "Wonder if they were named after the sleep, or the other way around. Nah, scientists wouldn't name something after a band. Although, Def Leppard does sound like the name of a wicked disease..."

He had been talking to himself a lot more. Dragaunus had told him that the entire point of Nosedive's capture was, essentially, to break him. Nosedive had set his mind to make that an incredibly difficult feat. After all, he had gone through plenty of psychological warfare back on Puckworld, while in the camps. He considered himself quite resilient, thank you very much.

Though, he had to admit, the physical part was getting to him. After all, it was not like a regular hostage situation, where the torture (_Excuse me_, he thought. _Interrogation._) was designed to make the prisoner give information ("Not that I ever would," he said, defending himself to his imaginary audience). There was no point to the beatings but to hurt him. Siege was enjoying himself, too. So many times the Ducks had defeated him; Nosedive sensed some pent-up rage in the Saurian. The fact that he was able to crack jokes even as Siege's foot came into contact with his ribcage probably did not help matters.

Nosedive chucked to himself, then cringed, wrapping his good arm around his abdomen. "Ugh, the ribs. Forgot about them." He leaned against the wall, then pulled his shirt up. Purple and yellow peppered his skin, varying in size and shape, and wrapping around his hip to his back, where he was sure the pattern continued. "Lovely. Probably wouldn't be so sore, still, if I had a damn bed to lay on in here." He slid down the wall into a sitting position. "No bed, hardly any food, terrible hosts," he joked, nursing his sore shoulder. "It's like the opposite of a B&B. Be nice to, you know...check out sometime soon." He paused. "Poor phrasing."

He refused to admit it to himself, but Nosedive was beginning to falter – in energy, in humor, in hope. His team had never taken so long in locating the Raptor. The Saurians were never known for their intelligence, especially during one of their "plans," but it seemed as though they were laying low. After all, even a blip of energy and Tanya would have been all over it.

A low creak echoed throughout the cell as Siege pulled the door open. "Mm, is it that time again?" Nosedive asked, smiling up at the figure in the doorway. "By the way, since you didn't think to put a clock in here, let me just ask…how long's it been? It feels like this vacation is just _never_-ending."

Siege rolled his eyes. "Does it really matter?" he asked, pulling Nosedive up by the collar of his shirt until he was in a standing position. "Here, I'm feeling generous today. You can have the first punch." He grinned, jutting out his chin.

Nosedive glared up at him. His head was swimming. He had stood too quickly. He attempted to steady himself, then launched himself at the Saurian. His legs buckled and he spilled to the ground with an _oomph_. Laughter filled the chamber. "Poor duck, lost all ability to fight without your brother here?"

Nosedive frowned sharply. "Just...don't want to waste the energy," he muttered, struggling to regain his composure and stand. He placed a hand upon the wall, squinting at Siege through vision that was darkening, and quickly.

"Your choice." The punches, like they had been, were quick, hard, and randomized. By the time Siege turned to the doorway, Nosedive was slumped in the corner, breathing heavily. Blood was seeping from a cut in his temple ("Head wounds always bleed bad. No scaring me, there.") and his left eye was swollen shut. "By the way," Siege added, as he slid the door closed, "it's been three days."

"Called…it." His good eye fluttered closed, allowing sleep to envelop him.

A buzzer blared, and his eye shot open. He staggered forward on his hands and knees, trying to steady his heart from the shock. "God…" He looked up and cracked a smile. "Hey, they installed a window…" He reached his hand up to touch the glass. "At least I'll be able to tell what time it is."

He sat against the wall opposite the window, gazing at the blank, solid metal in front of him, a smile of relief on his face.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

* * *

"That's the day's business.  
Thinking. Thinking and isolation,  
because it doesn't matter if you  
pass the time of day with someone  
or not; in the end, you're alone."  
-Stephen King, _The Long Walk_

**CHAPTER FOUR**

The all-too-familiar sound of the buzzer jerked Nosedive from his slumber.

He was so tired he was beginning to feel sick. The room had been fixed up nicely, though. He spent most of his time peering out his window. The sun was out, now, and the sunlight cheered him up. He had heard, once, that there was something in sunlight that made people happy. Vitamin D? C? Or was it all just bullshit? Wasn't vitamin D found in orange juice? No, that was C. He giggled softly. What a stupid thing to worry about…he had Tanya for that kind of information, anyway.

It had been twelve hours since Siege had been there, though he would not know it. Time had begun to flow steadily, no longer possessing a great deal of meaning. His mind had long-forgotten that he had been trying to keep tabs on the days, and now he sat, sometimes stood, when his muscles began to throb from lack of us, his mind doing nothing but conversing with itself about this and that.

He clung to that. His subconscious recognized that he was losing it, bit by bit, and it terrified him. He had to keep himself as whole as possible, while sleep deprivation slowly ate away at him.

His lower back throbbed. _Still wish I had a bed in here_. He knew that, too, was a stupid thing to worry about; who needs a bed when they're not even sleeping? It'd be a waste of money, really. Wraith could probably conjure one up with magic, but he'd probably make it lethal: have it burn him alive or eat him or something, like in _Nightmare on Elm Street_. He paused. _Wait, wouldn't that make me Johnny Depp?_

The Saurians had installed some lights for him, too. It made it so much better than sitting in the dark, especially when the sun went down. He still managed to crash into the walls, though. He could not manage to get his bearings down, and his legs tended to give out on him more and more with each passing hour. Still, he made himself pace, not wanting to lose all strength in his body. If his muscles all gave out, how would he run away after pulling a prank on Mallory? How would he practice with the team? Nope, got to keep in good physical condition. Well, okay physical condition. Hell, just keeping the word "physical" in his vocabulary would be enough for him at this point.

He was fed. Cold scraps, but he ate every bit. Getting food into his system helped his head pain a bit, and he felt a bit more alert. He allowed himself to doze; if he did not fall into _too_ deep of a sleep, they would not awaken him, he found. The dozing helped the most of all – he could feel himself heal, like a warmth was passing over his psyche. It was also, however, in this state of relaxation that he could acknowledge how bad off he was. _Crazy. Getting there._

Nosedive snapped awake as his body gave him a jerk. _Falling dream…nothing worse_, he thought, placing a hand on his chest to steady his racing heart.

Pitch black. He frowned in the darkness. There was no way he had been asleep that long. Ten, fifteen minutes tops. There was not even a trace of moonlight peering in to offer him sight. He crawled forward, careful to keep weight off of his left arm – though why, he did not know…it was now numb from shoulder to fingertip – and felt along the cold, metal wall. Smooth, a rivet here and there, but nothing else to feel. It was as solid as it had ever been.

Nosedive crawled back to his sitting place against the wall. How was it possible? Saurian magic, maybe. They were probably screwing with him. They had seen how little the physical attacks had affected him and now they were going for psychological warfare. Well, it wasn't going to work, not now that he was on to their little tricks.

"Nice try!" he shouted, standing and staring around at the ceiling. "I see what you're doing, and it's not working!" His voice was cracked and quiet from lack of use, so his shouting was less effective than he had imagined. No response, not that he had expected one. Siege was the only one he had regular communications with, and that had been nearly a day ago. Right? A day. He thought. Did that make it four days he had been here? He hated not knowing what date it was. For all he knew, it could have been a month, maybe more. Maybe the team had given up on looking for him.

No. Wildwing would never just give up. It was his brother, for star's sake. Unless they thought he was dead. Dragaunus could have easily faked his death using Chameleon, and that right there would have stopped the search. His chest tightened. Gods, that couldn't have been the case. He couldn't spend the rest of his life here. _As nice as it may be_, he forced himself to joke.

But that wouldn't have happened. Dragaunus said they needed him broken, not dead (and he was definitely getting there), so there was no way that they would pull a stunt like that. Plus, even if they had, Wildwing would insist on having his brother's body for a proper burial and not even Chameleon is that committed to Dragaunus.

Right? _Right?_

He was panicking, and he knew it. _C'mon, Dive,_ he thought. _It's fine. Can't give up on me, buddy. We're all we've got. And yes I realize that it's just me, but work with me here, okay?_

Even with his internal cheerleader on his side, he allowed himself to dissolve into weakness. His vision clouded and his _heart_, Jesus, it was like he was having a heart attack. He dragged himself to the corner and vomited. _Lovely_.

_Calm it down, Dive, you're getting a bit pathetic_. He crawled back to his spot and closed his eyes, head resting against the cool metal – so refreshing against the sweat that had appeared along his hairline.

_God._

A gasp and a jerk and he was awake again. He hardly needed the buzzer at this point; it was like his own body was rejecting the notion of sleep. His eyes lulled upwards and he saw through the window that it was daytime again. He forced himself into a standing position, craving a look into the outside world.

He had to stand on his tiptoes, but he could see out. Blue sky, the city skyline, mid-day traffic. _Wonder if I could see the Pond from here._ His eyes glanced about, but he saw nothing specific. Generic city, generic cars…

He raised an eyebrow. The sun was moving. Okay, yes, the sun was always moving because of the earth moving and whatever, but it was positively skittering across the sky. Down, down, until the edge of the world had completely swallowed it, and nighttime returned.

More darkness, but surely the moon or the city would have _some_ light. It was a _city_, and a damn big one. Nothing. He was staring at nothing and it didn't even have the courtesy to stare back. He touched the window. Cold steel.

Nosedive took a few quick steps back. He looked around, then back at the wall. He could still see outside. A bit overcast, but overall a nice day. If he were out and about, he and Thrash and Mookie would probably be cruising the mall, checking out the latest comics, taking in a movie…

A flash of orange appeared in his peripheral. He backpedaled a bit more, his back slapping against the wall. Siege? God, his body hurt, no more beatings, stick with isolation and crappy food, there were no parts of his body left to break.

He glanced about…he was still alone, but surely.

No, not possible. He must've been seeing things.

Which, really, was not much better.

He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, careful not to disturb the eye that was swollen, and sat. His heart ricocheted against his ribcage. _Yup, I'm gonna die here. I'm going to have a heart attack in my teens and keel over dead._

A sudden mass of orange, green, red, and gray appeared before him, and he gave a shout of surprise, tipping and falling onto his side. His already-fractured ribs exploded in pain, his shoulder burned, and he did not move.

He was alone, still, in the pitch-black chamber, but he could _see_, and all he could do was see, so he allowed himself to use up the last bit of his strength glancing up and looking out his window to the blue skies just _slightly_ out of reach.

* * *

Door opened, a high-pitched squeal, followed by footsteps. The orange Saurian laughed at him, meekly lying on the floor, but he could not bring himself to give a shit, just closed his eyes and waited. Siege had amped up his strength, it seemed, and left Nosedive with the realization that he was, in fact, dying. Broken ribs, useless arm, busted eye, and, now, a rather, he figured, serious head wound. Siege's tail had caught him on the back of the head and he had _felt the crack, and blood, so much blood. He felt it pooling around him and, __God, he was dying._

Muffled voices surrounded him and he tried desperately to listen.

_"…ready. Didn't…as long as I thought."_

_"Just…you didn't kill him, Siege…"_

_"He basically is."_

_ "That's the point."_

_"...now what?"_

He slept.

* * *

"There! Energy surge…there!" Tonya jumped up and signaled the team on the communicators. The past week had been hectic, to say the least. She had been parked in front of Drake One almost constantly, trying everything to find the Raptor or its inhabitants.

Wildwing had not said more than two sentences per day. His time was spent searching the city; he had obtained a city blueprint from Klegghorn and searched the entire city looking for irregularities. The Raptor always transformed into a different building, so if he found something that was not on the blueprint, that must be it. Anaheim was huge, however, and even with Duke and Mallory helping him search, it was proving to be useless. Tanya figured – internally; she would not dare say it out loud – that it would take months to search every nook and cranny of the city, and by then…

She shook the thought from her mind. _Can't think that way_, she thought. As worried as she was for Nosedive, she was beginning to become equally as concerned for Wildwing. He spent all day searching the city and all night sitting beside her in front of Drake One, then slept a few hours before the sun rose. He refused to sleep in his bedroom, instead opting to sleep on the couch. "If anything happens," he had said, "I want to be right there."

At the sound of Tanya's voice and the alarm, Wildwing awoke and leapt off the couch, his legs leading him to Tanya's side before his mind had even shaken off the essence of sleep. "Where?"

"Canyon Rim Park, right in the center. I've plugged the coordinates into the Migrator."

They headed out, seized with purpose. The coordinates led near a reservoir, surrounded by trees, bushes, and given the 4:00am darkness, completely disorienting. "Stop the Migrator. We'll walk," Wildwing said. "Too dangerous to drive around blindly."

They set out on foot, walking toward the blinking yellow dot on their communicator. It was odd, being out in an area like this. There was certainly nothing here, just foliage. Nothing that they could possibly want to get their claws on, but the energy surge _had_ been here, and it had been a big one and had lasted. _Lasted long enough for us to see it_, Wildwing thought, clenching his jaw. _They're leading us here_.

It did not matter if it was a trap…not to Wildwing. He stayed alert and stayed ready for a battle, but it never came. They stopped right at the coordinates and shined lights around the wooded area. The reservoir sloshed gently to their right, and nocturnal bugs chirped and sang, but other than that, there was nothing.

Mallory frowned. "Why the hell—"

"Quiet," Wildwing said, putting up a hand. He had heard something, something like breathing. He strained to hear again, and heard…there! A raspy, hitching breath. He glanced around the ground in the radius around him, finally spotting, a few yards off, something small and dark, contrasted against the grass. He walked swiftly toward it, gasping as his eyes recognized the silhouette.

He knelt beside the form, squinting his eyes against the darkness. He reached out and touched the figure. "Dive?" No response.

"Is it him?" Mallory asked, standing beside Wildwing and casting her flashlight over the area. Wildwing cringed at the sight and there was a collective gasp around him. It was him, no doubt, although the bruising, swelling, and injuries did a wonderful job of disguising it. Wildwing's eyes went immediately to the wound on his brother's head, which had been tended to, pathetically, with a cheap bandage, merely stuck against his skull. His hair, and the grass around him, was now painted red with blood, although it looked as though the wound itself had stopped bleeding.

Wildwing carefully picked up his brother and jerked his head the way that they had come. "Let's go."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

Author's Note: My apologies for how long this took to put out. I have been immersed in internships and schoolwork and conferences here lately (but, hey! I'll be getting my Master's Degree in May! Yay!). I could add other excuses, but let's just get to the chapter!

* * *

"It had gotten to the point where  
it seemed like nothing matters,  
because I'm not a real person and  
neither is anyone else. I would have  
done anything to feel real again."

-Gillian Flynn, _Gone Girl_

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Nothing was so peaceful as the sweet embrace of sleep. Though, was it really sleep when it was due to injury…more forced upon him than sought out? Regardless, his body thanked him for the rest, and cursed him for being so damn _stupid_. He had given into the suffering, the breakdown, whatever it was Draganus had intended. He had not even lasted a week, and how sad was that? Even in the lull of blood-loss and being _**OUT **_he was shamed. _When I die, tell Wing that I lasted a month…that I took hundreds of drones out without a weapon. So much better_.

He was aware that he was being moved around, and not exactly gently. His good eye cracked open, peering into the gray haze around him. "…fix it," a voice murmured above him. Pressure was applied to his head, followed by something sticky.

"Good enough. He won't bleed out anyway. Go."

Nosedive was lifted again. _Hmm, off we go_. He closed his eyes and rested. His eyes burned from the unusual relaxation that welcomed them. It was an incredible feeling, and he was _**OUT **_again.

It was like he was floating. No, dangling; that was a better word for it. And it was so dark and so quiet that is was bordering on painful…so _dead silent_ that his ears were _splitting_ from being bombarded with that high-pitched ringing.

_How am I supposed to sleep with that?_ he asked himself, though he knew full-well that he was asleep, deep asleep, and that this was all just part of the process.

A quick, sharp bark of pain shot through him, awakening him a bit, but not quite. He tried cracking his eyes, but it was useless. His arm and legs felt a light vibration, letting him know that he was still being moved. Otherwise there was nothing else to feel, not from the outside world, anyway. Just aches, pain, and relief.

He vaguely recalled being dropped on soft, wet grass. The trip to _wherever_ had been a blur, and he had swung between unconsciousness and…not quite consciousness; it was more of a fog, muffled and murky and topsy-turvy. All that he could really register was that he was dying. Slowly, but there it was.

He was accepting it, and that realization terrified him more than the actual dying process. He had been raised to be so strong, and here he was. No matter how he rationalized it, he was giving up. Shame rose to the back of his throat and even though he absolutely did not want it to be the last emotion he felt, it was too late. There it was, unrelenting and there to stay.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, he was home. All he could see was the sky and a bit of the background out of his peripheral, but he knew it. Puckworld. He exhaled in relief, noting the fact that he could see his breath as he did so. Home.

The pain was gone, and that was what he noticed first. He raised his left hand and looked at it. It seemed fine: no longer numb or lifeless.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing around him. He was in the center of a makeshift hockey rink – the one he, Wildwing, and Canard used to play on, all those years ago. _God, has it really been that long? _he thought, smiling softly at the thought.

He pressed a hand to the back of his head. No pain there either. He pulled the hand back and looked at it. No blood either. Part of him wondered if the whole experience had been a dream, but he chased the thought from his mind. He remembered the pain; there was no imagining that.

He stood. The world was silent, but _there_. Snow covered the ground, as it always had, and it was bright, though cold. He shivered. _Probably should find a coat or something if I'm here to stay_, he thought, looking down at the thin t-shirt and pants that covered his body. _Shoes, too._

He rubbed at his head. It was so damn _quiet_, how was it even possible? His ears rang loudly, and he felt the pain returning. He glanced around him. Not only that, where _was_ everyone? The city had never exactly been a bustling place – though Anaheim was pure insanity compared to it – but this was just…wrong.

Nosedive began to walk. The ground felt solid and he could feel the cold breeze around him, but that was it. He placed his hand on the goal and felt nothing. Like it was not even there…or like he was not. He frowned. That was just stupid. On the other hand, he had just been on Earth, so what did he know?

Right. Earth. The whole "dying" thing. Was that was this was? A way to return home before ultimately kicking the bucket? If so, Death was one cruel jackass, but It had the right to be. It always bested you, so why shouldn't It have the last laugh? Or maybe this was Its act of kindness. Who could know?

The thought fluttered out of his mind as he passed one familiar building after another. Sound or not, feeling or not, people or not, this was _home_, and he was happy. An act of kindness? Yes, certainly.

"_I'm so sorry."_

The voice came and went as a whisper, barely making it past the loud, continuous ringing. Nosedive paused, glancing around. It had sounded like his brother, but that was impossible. _He_ wasn't dying, not that Nosedive knew of. _He better not be! I'll come back and haunt some serious Saurian ass!_

He glanced around, looking for the source of that distinct voice, but there was nothing. _Maybe I imagined it. Wouldn't be surprising, you know, given the circumstances._ He felt a swell of price, being able to joke in the face of death. It was useless, stupid, and pathetic, but it was all he knew: after all, if you could not joke at death, what was there? Especially when It was creeping up at you, step by step.

"…_all my fault."_

There it was again. It was definitely Wildwing, and it definitely _could not _be him. The voice washed over him, omnipresent as it was, and he swallowed. On one hand, he was aware that he was hallucinating, and that the voice could very well be a hallucination, too. But, God, out of everything he was experiencing, that voice was so _real_ that he could not just shrug it off as imaginary.

The lights of the world began to dim. He stumbled a step, falling to a knee. Dying was such an ordeal. Why couldn't it be simple? _You're alive. BAM. Nothingness._ It all seemed so incredibly complicated this way. At this point, he would rather just be dead. He was just so, so tired…

Something flittered just out of his peripheral. "Huh," he muttered, fixating his eyes where the movement had been. Dying was complicated, but curiosity was not. He stood, walking toward where the movement had been: a deserted alley. "Pretty much everything is deserted, though," he whispered to himself. The alleyway, as he suspected, was empty, save for a trashcan, debris, and some graffiti. Funny, he had not noticed graffiti until he had landed on Earth. It had never been present on Puckworld – not that he could remember, anyway – but there it was: bright and present, scribbled in white.

_Accept._

Nosedive swallowed. Accept it? He knew that he could not, not with Wing out there, blaming himself and begging his baby brother to return.

He scoffed.

How narcissistic to assume that the words were about _him_. On the other hand, it was _his_ delusion, so how could it not be about him?

He sighed. His head pulsated, a kind reminder of his current situation. _Shit._ He could practically see the scene: the team sprinting back to the Pond; him, lying lifelessly in the Aerowing, blood pouring from his wounds; and Wildwing, blaming himself for his brother's current situation. Guilt crept around him. He had put himself in this position, and now Wildwing was about to lose another member of his family? It was, simply, not fair.

The world around him dimmed, as though God had flipped a light switch. The clichéd "it's getting so dark" part of the death scene. He had seen enough films to recognize it, and he would have laughed, if it had been at all funny.

He pushed himself into a standing position and staggered through the dim street. He pressed a hand against the brick wall – pressure, but a lack of the rough, gravely sensation beneath his fingers. "Does that make me a ghost?" he wondered aloud. "Or, wait, would I fall through the wall? Ghosts can stand on the floor, so I guess touching walls makes sense. Maybe it depends on the director." Babbling made him feel better….or at least loosened that knot of despair that had lodged itself in his chest. He'd take it.

The emptiness was disconcerting. If this was, indeed, a dream, was this supposed to be some sort of a metaphor? His home world, empty, and he was the only one left, except he seemed to be a ghost. A psychologist would go crazy over this. Something to do with his feelings, or his mother. He had only seen a few episodes of _Frasier_, otherwise, he assumed, he would be better at the analysis.

"Hey!" He shouted, surprising himself. He recognized it: it was where he, Wildwing, and Canard used to practice hockey. Back when Canard was around. As much of an asshole as the guy had been, Nosedive could not deny that, at times, he missed the control freak.

Nosedive stepped onto the ice half-expecting himself to fall beneath the surface. But solid he stood, not even an acknowledgement of the slippery surface beneath the soles of his boots. His face split open into a grin as memories came flooding back. He hunched over, miming hitting a puck into the rusted goal.

The world went black.

His heart leapt into his throat and he dropped to the ground. A sharp pain stabbed into his right hand. Nosedive crawled blindly along the ground, looking for something – anything – to grab onto to pull himself back upright. Fingers grasped air. Whatever had been around him, hallucination or not, was gone.

He cursed. He began to thrash, out of fear, out of anger, out of being so completely _pissed off_ about the situation that it was like his body was reacting _for_ him. Jesus, it hurt his head, though. He tried to stop but found himself immobilized to his own body. "Shit," he cursed again.

A warmth spread throughout his extremities. He sighed, loudly, embarrassingly (had there been anyone around, that is). "Thank God," he mumbled. The thrashing had left, and he found himself more exhausted than he had been. Was that even possible? "Apparently," he slurred, answering his own coma-ridden mind.

Finally: there was nothing. Just blissful, relaxing sleep as his body began, slowly, to recover.

* * *

To be continued...


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: The show and its characters belong to its creator. I own nothing.

* * *

"If I can't feel, if I can't move, if I can't  
think, and I can't care, then what  
conceivable point is there in living?"  
-Kay Redfield Jamison, _An Unquiet Mind  
_

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

He was lucky to be alive.

It was the mantra Tonya had insisted on playing on repeat for the past few weeks. This was, of course, true. Tonya would never admit to anyone beyond herself that the first thought she had had upon Nosedive's admission to her medical deck was more along the lines of, _"He shouldn't be alive."_ It was, also, true; looking at each of his injuries separately, and then together, she was shocked that he had pulled through. He had never even flat-lined during treatment of his head injury. If Tonya had not believed in miracles beforehand – and it was iffy – she sure as hell did now.

The first four weeks had been the worst. Nosedive had pulled through remarkably. She remembered telling the team that exact phrase, in relief. He had been, however, unresponsive. Wildwing had looked as though he had been slapped when she said it. She was quick to add that the young duck was lucky to be alive and that he would recover. The latter was her own wan hope, but she had believed it to be true.

She had allowed the team to visit him at that point. He had been under her watch for nearly two days before she felt comfortable letting the others in. Especially Wildwing. In those two days, he had not said a word; he simply sat in the waiting area and allowed himself to eat – when his teammates insisted on it. As well as Nosedive was doing, Tonya simply could not trust Wildwing to keep his cool and she did not want any more stressors on the team…or on Nosedive, who looked like he could slip away at any minute.

It had lasted two weeks. Two weeks of having to watch the one-vibrant, borderline-annoying teenager lie there, as if paralyzed, eyes open, though unfocused. It had been hell; she was woman enough to admit it. Not because of having to take care of Nosedive, not at all – she would do it for any member of the team if needed – but the fact that it _was_ Nosedive made it all the more difficult for her to handle. He was a kid, so strong, so healthy…it made no sense.

Wildwing had been an amazing assistant, she had found. Tonya had been reluctant, at first, to allow Wildwing to help in the basic care regiments of his brother (the situation was tender enough with _her_ doing it), but Wildwing had handled it with calm and patience. No outbursts, nothing. If she had not been so preoccupied with keeping the teen duck stable, she might have felt something akin to shame at thinking her own leader would be anything other than professional.

But family was different, and this she knew.

The two weeks staggered by. Phil had taken the courtesy to cancel their games and endorsements during those weeks, which surprised the Ducks. Only Mallory had had the initiative to ask _why_, and even then, Phil had attempted to pass it off as: "Well, without Nosedive – who has the most charisma out of all of you – there's not a real point in shelling out money here and there, you know?" Mallory had nodded and had not pressed him on it, but she could see the worry in their manager's eyes. They had known each other enough to practically be family at this point…overbearing and money-hungry manager tactics aside.

When Nosedive finally moved and spoke, it was like oxygen had been returned to the Pond.

"Hi."

His voice was cracked and soft, but it was all that was needed. He would not be stuck in the unresponsive state. He would improve. The team had showered Nosedive with hugs and a few tears, and Tonya noticed, nervously, how he still seemed to be very detached. _God, Tonya,_ she had told herself, _he just survived God knows what and a brain injury? Of course he's detached._

Other than the "hi" and single-word responses, there was little else to be said. Nosedive was visibly disoriented, as was to be expected. The upside to this was that his personality had been given a chance to shine through; every time he forgot where he was or knocked tools off the side-table, he flashed a grin, and all was okay. Tonya forced herself to note that the memory loss may not be a good thing.

"What happened?" Nosedive had asked one Tuesday morning and Tonya nearly knocked over every medical instrument on her table. It was the first time he had spoken beyond single-word statements, and it was the first time he had asked any questions about what had happened to him. Tonya stammered, more than usual, before laughing nervously and turning on her heel to find Wildwing. It was more important that he be the one to answer the tricky questions, she felt.

"What happened?" he asked again, when Wildwing had settled into the seat beside the cot.

Wildwing cleared his throat. "Well, umm, Tonya said you had a lot of injuries, but the worst was your head." His brother stared at him, clearly wanting more information. "An injury to, I think she said, your right cerebral hemisphere. And some bilateral frontal lobe damage." He spoke nonchalantly, but Wildwing knew exactly what the injuries were, and where they were located. He had obsessed over Tonya's medical notes for weeks, after all.

"Oh." Nosedive nodded, touching his head, which was still heavily cloaked in bandages. He laid his hand down and settled deeper into his sheets, as though processing the meaningless information his brother had offered. "What happened?" he asked again.

Wildwing swallowed. "It was Dragaunus," he said, voice cracking over each syllable. "He...well, he ambushed us, took you. You were gone...forever. We tried so hard to find you, but they were hidden, Dive, and we didn't know what to do. They did things to you, we don't know what. Tonya thinks torture, sleep deprivation, I don't even know what else." Tears sprung to his eyes, then, but he forced them down. Nosedive had enough to deal with without an emotional brother. "We found you and you were bleeding out. From your head." His eyes danced upwards, to the bandaging. "We got you back in time, and you've been out for weeks now, but you're recovering. You...you're going to be fine, Dive."

Nosedive nodded. "Oh." There was a thick silence as Wildwing allowed his brother to process the information. "What happened?"

The next weeks consisted of rehabilitation: helping Nosedive begin to take over duties of taking care of himself, readjusting to every day activities and socialization, and it was going well, overall. Nosedive was, for all intents and purposes, back to normal. He carried on conversations, read comic books, ate like he had not eaten in years…

But there was something missing. Wildwing had noticed it first, but had pushed it to the back of his mind; he was much more engrossed with helping his brother readjust to every day life.

Tonya had noticed it not long after Wildwing, and she had written extensively on it on his medical file. Or, rather, it felt extensively, because it had taken her so long to find the right wording, because it all sounded so ridiculous.

Nosedive had lost his _oomph_. He was missing the zany, carefree attitude he had once possessed. The conversations he carried on were automatic and lacked in substance and humor, no matter how many forced smiles he peppered in. The memory loss was not helping, of course, and Nosedive was getting visibly frustrated every time someone mentioned that he had "asked that question already" or "they just told him, doesn't he remember?"

Her first instinct was PTSD, but she had hardly had a chance to talk with him about what had happened, much less make an unprofessional diagnosis. She was desperate for answers, and she knew that was not a good move on her part. Objectivity and all that.

So she tried barely touching the subject, allowing Nosedive to take the lead of the conversation, if he was ready. "They killed me," he had said with a shrug. "That's what they wanted to do." He then shifted; he always had a difficult time getting comfortable, what with the heavy amount of bandaging: on his head, his chest, his arms…Tonya had not told Wildwing or Nosedive yet that the chances of the teen regaining full usage of his right hand was slim-to-none. An issue for another day…plus Nosedive had done a great job thus far at surprising her, so she did not want to jump the gun on anything. Not until she absolutely had to.

Nosedive slept constantly, drank in every minute as though he had never felt it before. That, coupled with the cognitive issues, was what brought Tonya to assume there had a good deal of sleep deprivation. There were also the factors of the dark circles beneath Nosedive's eyes and his constant mumblings of, "God, they never let me sleep." Admittedly, more the last clue than the others, but if you just go believing the ramblings of a brain-damaged, malnourished, disoriented teenager, then you would be led down a series of rabbit trails. She had needed the other evidence.

Nosedive had improved a great deal, and for that, everyone was relieved. But, as Tonya's medical notes had stated, it was true: his personality was different. The jokes were few and far in-between, and he was missing his vibrant attitude, but no one said anything, lest they jinx the miracle that the kid was still _there_.

"How are you, uhh, feeling?" Tonya asked, as she did every morning. She shined a light into the teen's eyes.

"Ow." Nosedive rubbed at his eyelids. "I'm good. Same as yesterday, I guess. Less tired though."

Tonya nodded, scribbling in her notes. "Anything else, uhh, bothering you? Head? Arm? Any pain?"

He shrugged. "No more than usual. My head's killing me and I still can't feel anything here." He held up his hand, still cloaked in white bandaging. "But…yeah, I guess there's something. Everything's all…blurry. Like I have water in my eyes or like I'm wearing your glasses." He chewed his lip, as though ashamed. "But it's not a big deal. I'm okay."

In all honesty, it had begun to feel a big deal. It was like he was seeing the world through two kaleidoscopes. Constant spinning, inability to adjust his eyesight, but only in the morning. As the day went on, everything would come into focus and he felt…fine.

As another week dragged by, Tonya noted that there had been a change in his personality, but not in the way that she had hoped. Nosedive had become fearful of everything around him, and simply not stop talking about his near-death experience. Tonya knew that talking about what had happened was probably the best thing for Nosedive, but there was a fascination about him as he spoke, as though…

She shook her head at the thought. After all the kid had been through, she was there trying to analyze his reactions? Guilt filled her and she put a stop to her worries right there.

"They killed me, you know." He said it every morning, in a state of near-sleep and slur. Tonya knew; she had seen and put together the charts on Nosedive since admission. She had seen him in the woods that night, bleeding and clinging to life. She knew, maybe more than Nosedive did, at this point.

He exploded, twice. Both times, he said the same thing. "You killed him! You killed Wildwing!" He had been short of sobbing at that point, thrashing in his bed to the point that Tonya had to have Grin put restraints on him.

Wildwing had attempted to comfort his brother, but to no avail. "I'm right here, Dive," he had said. "No one killed me. I'm right…I'm right here."

Nosedive had stared at his brother, had _seen _him, then shook his head maniacally. "You're not him! I'm not stupid, you asshole! You're not him!"

The shouting had continued until Tonya had sedated the kid. It had to be done, she had explained to no one in particular – especially since no one had questioned her. "He's…he's just experiencing…" Her voice trailed, stammered. "I don't know," she admitted.

Since his outburst, things had gotten progressively worse, but not in the violent way she had expected. Nosedive simply refused to eat, refused everything that was offered to him. He insisted on being removed from all medications and anything else Tonya had provided for him.

"I don't need it," he said. "I'm dead."

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
